If Music be the Food of Love
by Visinata
Summary: Fiona pushes Baz into taking Simon with him to an orchestra concert. It surprises everybody when the prospect throws him into a panic.
1. Chapter 1 - Two Gifts

BAZ

Fiona got me the tickets for my birthday.

"Happy birthday, Basil," she had said. We were enjoying a rare afternoon at home in her flat, our flat, together. Sometimes it's difficult to remember this is where I officially live. I make an extra effort to spend time here when she's home between jobs. I think it's nice to spend some real time with the person who was closest to my mother when she was young, besides, I'm not at all sure how Fiona feels about Simon and I don't particularly fancy having it out with her about what I've chosen to do on that front quite yet. I don't know if it's the gay thing or the Chosen One thing, or the questions about how a vampire can safely date a human that I'm worried about, she doesn't seem as perturbed by any of it as father does, but I'd still rather avoid a scene.

"But my birthday isn't for another month," I say.

"Well, I'm leaving tomorrow, you tit. Take it." She was holding a white envelope out towards me and looking smug. I took it and slid the flap open to reveal two tickets. They were for the London Symphony.

"They're doing the Bruch. I know it's one of your favorites."

I'm touched. I didn't know she paid any attention. I mostly just practice my violin when she's here to annoy her. "I thought you hated my playing."

"I don't. You're good at it. I'm proud of you. I just think you should get out more. Normal nineteen year olds don't moon around indoors sawing away at a hunk of wood for fun."

"Normal nineteen years olds don't have fangs and try to avoid sunlight," I reply. I expect her to tell me to stop feeling sorry for myself, but instead Fiona responds by grabbing a handful of my hair with one hand and getting an especially vicious grip on the back of my neck with the other, forcing my face down and away from her. (Is this part of her vampire hunting routine? I hope it is, it's damned effective. Although what I really hope is that she never has to get close enough to one of the bastards that this comes in handy.) She drags me, bent double, to the open window, directly into a shaft of sunlight.

"You're supposed to say, 'Thank you,'" she hisses into my ear. Anyone watching us would be afraid for my safety. Anyone watching us who doesn't know I'm a vampire, and who can't see her struggling not to laugh. She's never truly angry at me. She just loves melodrama.

"You're too kind," I say, as nonchalantly as I can manage, given the circumstances. She gives my head a shake, and twists, exposing more of my skin to the sun. "Thank you," I try again, choking a little on the words this time.

She lets me up. My head will be hurting for a week.

"Really. Thank you Fiona. This is a wonderful surprise." I take a closer look at one of the tickets. "But...it isn't until May. Are you coming back for this?" I know I'm her favorite nephew (easy when you're the only nephew), but interrupting her work for an orchestra concert I know she isn't the slightest bit interested in isn't her style.

"Crowly Basil, I'm not planning to go out on a date with you myself. You're as thick as that golden-haired Prince Charming of yours sometimes."

I freeze, suddenly grateful that I haven't fed all day, no worries about blushing.

Fiona goes on as if she hasn't noticed a thing. "Take Snow. I'm betting he has no idea how important this is to you. It's time you start letting him into your life a little more." Letting Simon into my life...little does she know...but kissing and handholding, and well...all of the other things aside, she's right. I'm nervous about inviting him to share some of the private parts of my life, the things that kept me grounded during the most difficult years. Snow is a new steadying force for me, but I have to fight the urge to keep him separate from everything else. Sometimes I still find it hard to believe he won't vanish in a puff of smoke if I think about him too hard. But I can worry about that later.

I arch an eyebrow. "Did you just tell me to take Simon on a romantic date to the symphony?"

"Don't put words into my mouth, but yes, I did. Where's the harm in that, Basil? You're behaving like I've asked you to drain Mordelia's rabbit." I wince, a little too close to home. Rabbits are, in fact, delicious, at least compared to rats.

"I just didn't think you approved. That's all."

"He's a good bloke. What I don't approve of is having to tell my dimwitted nephew that he should take his boyfriend out somewhere nice once in a while."

"What did you just say?"

"That you're a dimwit."

"Not about me," rolling my eyes at Fiona is risky, but I can't stop myself, "about Simon."

"He's a good guy, Baz." She looks me in the eye, "but don't ever ask me to say that again." I'm grinning now, although I'm trying not to let her see it. I feel like she's just given me a second gift. "

I move in the direction of the door. She follows me and keeps talking while I begin putting on my coat, stashing the tickets in the inside pocket, next to my wand. "Also, I like seeing you happy for a change. It looks good on you." She leans in and gives me a quick one arm hug, then ruins the mood by punching me with her other arm. Hard. She's a great deal stronger than she looks, but I don't care. "Thanks," I say again, on my way out the door. This time it sounds genuine.

"The seats are in the balcony," she says from across the room, where she's suddenly busy, with her back to me.

"Ok," I say, starting down the corridor.

"Because Numpties can't climb stairs!" she calls after me. I'm not even thinking as I whip out my wand.

FIONA

That boy makes me groan, and laugh. The skill in him...and the arrogance. I suppose it's good that he had music on his mind. Music makes the world go round is a weak spell, even in his hands. As soon as the neighbor turns his radio off, possibly even before, I'll stop rotating and be back on the ground. I want to fume at him, and curse him, and I'll tell him I did the next time I see him, but I can't help being proud of everything he's become.


	2. Chapter 2 -In Which Baz Freaks Out

SIMON

Baz looks happy, really happy, when he comes in the door. He was over at his place, well, his aunt Fiona's place. He sleeps over there a few nights a week, the nights he has early classes to get to the next morning. "I don't need any extra distractions in the morning, Snow." He's still very serious about school, even though we're not at Watford anymore.

I'm happy to say that he spends a lot of time here, at Penny's and my flat, too. It's a relief that he and Penny get on so well. I got a hint of that near the end of our time at Watford, but I could tell that for all of the witty banter and deep magicosophical conversations they had (Penny says that's a real thing), she never completely trusted him. "That's your fault!" she said when I brought it up. "Great snakes, Simon! You go around for seven years, seven years, giving me detailed lists of all the reasons I shouldn't trust him and then you expect me to forget everything you've said overnight because your evil vampire arch enemy is suddenly your evil vampire boyfriend?"

"Kind and misunderstood vampire boyfriend."

"I'll give you nicer-than-he-seemed-when-he-was-genuinely-plotting-against-you vampire boyfriend, but really, Simon!"

But evil or misunderstood, here he is, with an actual smile on his face, and I'm so happy to see him, he's been gone a lot this week, spending time with Fiona. I can't help myself, even before he's got his coat all the way off, I'm across the room, reaching my arms around him to pull him into a big hug. "I've missed you Baz." I breathe into his cheek.

"You too." He keeps smiling and kisses me, tantalizingly, right next to my mouth.

"Why the good mood?" I ask, and that's a mistake, because he's suddenly pulling away from me, smile dimming, and now he's standing with his arm still loosely around me, but somehow apart. He tries to smile again, and succeeds in appearing friendly, but cool, like somebody else's boyfriend.

"Hey..sorry...what..."

He rolls his eyes and moves towards the couch, the arm that was around my waist slipping off, forgotten.

"What are you...why...why were you smiling when you came in?" I try again, lamely. Penny's ceased all her activity across the the room and isn't making any effort to hide the fact that she's watching us, her brow furrowed. I follow Baz but don't sit down, he tries the fake smile again and adjusts his position so that he looks at ease, straight back leaning into the couch, one hand behind his head. I recognize this devil-may-care attitude, and it doesn't bring back fond memories. "Fiona gave me my birthday gift early, since she'll be gone, it's a ticket to the symphony. That's why I was smiling. I haven't been in ages."

BAZ

"Just one ticket, Baz?" Bunce is far too on the ball.

"Mmm." I try for a noncommittal sound, and move my head a bit, in a way that might be construed as a nod.

Her eyes narrow. Simon has moved away from the door and is standing over me. Usually I enjoy looking up at him like this, he's like a tawny god when the light hits him in the right way, it's so good I don't even mind the shades being open, but now his expression is wavering between hurt and suspicious. I have a momentary impulse to stand and embrace him, apologize for hurting him even the slightest bit, and invite him to the concert with me, but there's a tight knot right in the center of my chest that won't let me.

"That seems...odd." He says. "Don't people usually go to these things with someone? Why didn't she get one for herself...or...or..."

"For you, Snow?" I raise an eyebrow. He colors. "Beats me," I say languidly, "This is Fiona were talking about. Maybe she didn't want to waste the money on you. You've never actually heard a live orchestra, have you?"

"What do you think? It's not like they dressed all of us up at the home in our Sunday best and took us into London for a day out, is it?"

"I'd say that's a no then, since your friend the Mage did away with all of Watford's musical ensembles well before we arrived."

SIMON

Even though Baz had good reason to hate the Mage, he doesn't usually talk about him like this in front of me, what with him being like a father to me for so long, and then the way he died. I'm taken aback, but I'm trying to give Baz the benefit of the doubt here. I don't want to be fighting, and this is starting to feel dangerously close. "Maybe I could get myself a ticket and go with you," I say. "It could be a laugh."

"A laugh? It's not a day at the seaside, Snow. You have no idea what you're talking about. You'd do better to stay here and catch up on your coursework."

PENELOPE

Simon is standing, gaping at Baz. I feel myself staring in disbelief too. Baz hasn't been this nasty to him in a long time. And he was so happy when he arrived, it was like he'd let his guard down and now is trying to make up for it by saying the worst things he can think of. He hasn't behaved like this since before he and Simon were together, since the days when he put most of his energy into pushing Simon away deliberately, so that he wouldn't risk exposing his feelings.

Hmmm.

I take a closer look at Baz. Under Simon's gaze he's dropped the laid back attitude and now his right hand is balled up into a tight fist. If he wasn't already so pale, I expect his knuckles would look white. His other hand has moved to his leg and he begins absently, but forcefully, running it up and down his thigh. I look back up at his face, and I think I catch a momentary shift from impenetrable calm to, what is that? pain? distress of some other sort? It's fleeting, but I'm fairly certain of what I saw.

BAZ

Bunce is annoyingly perceptive sometimes. Her dark eyes can be piercing, and she's just flicked them back and forth between my hand, which I realize I've been running up and down my leg, like a nervous schoolboy, and my face, and then softened her gaze. Snakes' sakes, I hope she keeps her thoughts to herself. I deliberately take my hand off my leg and lean my elbow on the back of the couch.

SIMON

Baz's expression is neutral. I can't read him at all. He stays seated for another minute, looking right through me, then he's up, strolling across the room to Penny, where he picks up right in the middle of a conversation the two of them were having earlier in the week about the relative merits of using dialectic pronunciation in spells. She tilts her head at me over his shoulder, and lowers her eyebrows in a silent question. I have no idea what just happened, so I shrug. Baz is clearly planning on ignoring me. My earlier excitement at seeing him is gone. I don't even want to be in the same room with him right now, so I stomp down the corridor to my bedroom, slam the door closed, and pound my fist into the pillow in frustration.

PENELOPE

Baz keeps on talking about dialect theory, but I see his shoulders lower and his whole body relax as soon as Simon is out of the the room.

"Ok Baz." I cut him off mid-sentence "What's going on?"

"I don't know what you're talking about, Bunce." His back is stiff again, he looks two inches taller, and he's sneering down his nose at me. Classic.

He used to make me nervous when he looked like this, but I know him too well now. Instead of backing off, which is what he's hoping for, I walk over to him and take his hand. He flinches but doesn't break away. I flinch slightly too. I forgot he would feel so cold. When I pull him gently in the direction of the couch, he only resists for a moment before he's sitting down next to me, elbows on his knees, head in his hands, eyes on the floor.

"So?"

"It's stupid." His voice is muffled. His face is still in his palms, and he's talking to the floor.

"Stupid is coming in here with a big grin on your face and then turning right around and snarling at your boyfriend until he goes and hides in his room. Whatever's going on, it had better be good." I'm getting irritated. He's doing exactly what a small part of me is always afraid he's going to do, attack Simon for no reason, when no one's expecting it. It's what Simon spent years training me to be on the lookout for and despite the fact that I'd largely started ignoring him by seventh year it's still in the back of my mind, even though the circumstances have changed. The annoying thing is, I like Baz now too, and I'm as worried about him as I am about Simon.

"It's not good. I already said that it's stupid."

"Ok. Care to tell me about it?"

He stares at the floor for a full minute before speaking again. "There are two tickets. Fiona gave me two tickets to the symphony. I'm supposed to take Simon with me, but I lied about it, and now I'm a terrible person."

"Why did you lie? Don't you want to take Simon?"

BAZ

I sigh. That's the question, isn't it. That, and why this thing that was intended to make me happy, that did make me happy, is now tying my stomach in knots. Do I want him there?

"No. Yes. I mean yes. Really. I'd love to have him there, if he'd enjoy it, but Simon...he's so...he wouldn't...I can't..."

"Baz, you sound like him." Penny's smiling. "Are you afraid he won't like it? You know he'll try, for you."

"That's not enough."

"You can't ask him to do more than that."

"I'm not asking him to. I'm not...I don't know what I'm doing."

"Why is this a big deal? It's not like you're asking him to defend you in a duel."

PENELOPE

His eyes flick towards me, surprised and annoyed, then away again. "It's a concert, it's music, why can't you enjoy it with him?"

Silence. Baz looks like he's struggling to speak, but losing the battle. It's unlike him to be at a loss for words.

"What are you afraid will happen, Baz? And don't say 'nothing'. That's clearly not true."

Baz has been looking down at the floor or up at the ceiling the whole time he's been talking, but now he turns his face towards me. The only word to describe it is anguished which, honestly, surprises me. I don't feel like we're talking about an anguish-grade dilemma here. "I don't know how to explain this to you. Music is...I'm...It's...Penny, I don't have a soul."

How is this relevant? "Simon says that you do."

"He would say anything just to be nice."

"Because he loves you, Baz." He rolls his eyes and looks away again.

"Do you want to hear what I have to say or not, Bunce?"

I do. This isn't making any sense to me yet, but I want it to. I have to trust that he can make me see why this is a problem so that we can get to work on finding a way to solve it. "Yes, I do. Go on."

BAZ

I'm afraid that the music won't mean anything to Simon, won't make him feel anything, when it means so much to me. It's like fifth year all over again, I'm dying from wanting him to feel the same thing as me, but I'm unwilling to even bring it up because I'm terrified that he won't. I want him to love the experience as much as I do, not because he's making an effort for me, but because he's genuinely feeling it.

And as if that isn't an unfair enough standard to hold him to, there's worse. I'm ashamed of myself for this, but if I'm honest, I have to admit that I'm also afraid Snow will embarrass me. He didn't have the upbringing I did, he won't know know what to wear, how to behave, when to applaud, and I don't want to feel like I'm responsible for chaperoning a seven year old through his first Cultural Experience.

I dislike admitting this to Snow, but I enjoy looking up to him. I like having a boyfriend that I can admire and try to live up to, and I know I'm not being fair to him, but if I take him to the symphony with me I don't want to have to tell him everything he needs to do to get it right, I want him to just get it right. I am unable to think of any part of this I could reasonably explain to him. How much of it can I explain to Bunce?

"You're not going to tell Simon about this are you?"

"About what, Baz? You still haven't said a word." She purses her lips, I'm clearly pushing her limits, and I really could use some help sorting this out, from a (hopefully) neutral third party. (Maybe this is why Simon enjoys talking to his therapist?)

"I don't know how to explain this." But apparently I'm going to attempt it all the same. "I don't know if it will make any sense to you."

"Well, so far it hasn't. Would you please stop stalling and get to the point?"

"The truth is, that no matter what rosy fantasy Snow would like to you believe, I'm 99% certain I have no soul, but when I'm playing music, or completely surrounded by it, the empty feeling is less, it almost goes away. It's like..."

"Like what, Baz?"

My voice is quiet. I don't know if Bunce will even hear, but I don't care. "It's like music is my soul."

Penelope is silent for a moment. Maybe she didn't hear. Then, softly, "Just tell him Baz. He'll understand. He's suffered losses too, not the same ones that you have, but he'll be able to accept what you're saying."

How can I explain to her that I don't want to have to tell Simon this? I want him to just understand it, on his own, and the risk that he won't is too great.

I shake my head. "No Penny, I can't do it."

"Ugh! Baz! You're making a mountain out of a...well...a much smaller mountain. This would be far less infuriating if I didn't like you." I raise an eyebrow at her and she swats at me, but playfully, not like she means it. Fiona could take lessons. "You know what I mean. I don't know who to feel worse for right now, Simon or you. You're both pathetic, but at the moment you're being more pathetic. I can't stand my friends being angry with each other, just go in there and talk to him, all right?"

Friends? That's interesting. Have I made Bunce's short list so,quickly? If I wasn't so preoccupied by my own idiocy I might take the time to be flattered.

I stand up and Bunce gives me an encouraging smile, which disintegrates when I turn and walk straight out the front door.


	3. Chapter 3 - Penny and Simon

PENELOPE

The minute the door slams shut, Simon comes out of his room. He's agitated, and I'm fuming. "Penny, Baz is up to something, I just know it!"

"Merlin and Morgana Simon! He's not your nemesis anymore, he's your boyfriend, kind and misunderstood, remember? Don't storm in here yelling. Ask him what's going on!"

Simon's head snaps towards me. "You know! Don't you? He told you! what is it?"

"Crowly Simon, this has nothing to do with me. You and Baz need to calm down and talk. He can't have got very far yet, why don't you go after him?

Simon looks at the door and I think maybe I've succeeded this time. After all, Simon's always been more for dealing with situations head-on than Baz has, but after two seconds he looks away, and then the bloody idiot walks slowly and deliberately into the kitchen, sits down at the table, puts in his headphones, and picks up the textbook he was reading before Baz showed up. I can't tell if this is all an act, or if some of Baz's remarkable sang froid has actually rubbed off on him. Either way, it's infuriating.

I'm itching to tell Simon exactly what Baz said to me, but what I've just told Simon is true, this whole situation is something that the two of them need to work out, it really has nothing to do with me at all (beside the unprecedented fact that Baz momentarily allowed me to look past his polished veneer, at the emotional turmoil underneath, which is a little worrying actually, since I'm pretty sure what I saw was just the tip of the iceberg).

Also, even though I didn't exactly promise not to share Baz's confidences with Simon, I think it might have been implied, and keeping quiet seems like the right thing to _do...sort_ of.

At least that's what I'm trying to tell myself.

Simon's never listened to me when I've had relationship advice for him in the past, has he? Surely the two of them will be able to work this out on their own. Right?

BAZ

I don't get very far. I regret storming out as soon as the door closes-it didn't just close, actually, I slammed it-but I don't see how I can go back in now. I'm furious with myself for loosing my shit like this-a year with Snow and I've entirely forgotten how to keep my emotions in check? And I'm furious with Snow, for things he can't help. I'm also wondering how much of my anger with him is really just an extension of my anger with myself, which only reinforces the idea that it's me who's a crap boyfriend, not Simon, and maybe that I'm a crap person too. Hell, I'm not really even a person. So I'm just crap, then.

When I feel like this, all I want to do is set something on fire. I toy with the idea and it's more tempting than I'd like to admit. I know how Snow will react to fire, he'll come running in an instant to save me, despite my behaviour. What I _don't_ know is how he'll react to the London Symphony. And I don't want to know. I do know I'm behaving like a prat. I should stop. How hard would it be to turn around, go back into Simon's flat (back into his arms too, It was beyond nice there) and just explain?

I shudder. I can't do that. I'm not as brave as Simon. I can't explain. There _is_ no good explanation for why I'm being such a complete arse, so instead I slip down the stairs and head towards the sewers. It's been too long since I've fed.

SIMON

I can't decide what to think about this whole situation with Baz, so I decide to just not think about it at all for while, which is harder than it should be, I'm out of practice. I read the same page in my textbook over three times before I remember that I should turn to the next one. I have about the same amount of success with that one, and the next. I'm on my third page, and 15 minutes have gone by, when it's finally too much for Penny.

"Circe's swine, Simon! I can't take this any more! Look, I try to stay out of your business..."

I can't stop myself from barking out a short laugh. "That's news to me."

She rolls her eyes and tries again, "I do try to stay out of, well, this isn't even a problem, out of...things between you and Baz," but this is ridiculous. It shouldn't even be a thing. You have to go and talk to him."

"So he did tell you what this is about! I knew it!"

Penny flinches, probably thinking I'm upset that he talked to her and not to me. Actually, I'm thrilled. In a funny way, it makes me feel closer to Baz, less worried that he's keeping some terrible secret from me. Knowing he'd trust my best friend with his problems makes me feel almost like he did talk to me because, let's be honest here, even if Penny promised to keep everything he said to herself, he's got to know her well enough by now to realize that she probably won't be able to keep her mouth shut.

"He only told me a little bit," she says. "He's really worked up, Simon, and he didn't manage to say much, but I do know that the reason he's behaving like a complete git is because he's worried about something. He's not mad or angry and obviously he's not plotting anything. Really, I shouldn't even need to say that."

"And what he's worried about is...?"

"No. I've already told you more than I should've done."

"Did he actually ask you not to tell me?"

"He might have mentioned it."

"And did you promise him you wouldn't?"

"Well...no."

"So there's no conflict of interest here, then. Spill it."

Penny sighs and I can tell I've won.

It turns out it has to do with this concert he's going to, which apparently I'm supposed to be going to as well. I agree with Penny's assessment that this isn't as big a deal as Baz is making it, and that he's behaving like an arse for no good reason. I'm relieved, but at the same time I find my anger starting to bloom again. Why did he have to take the melodramatic approach and leave my mind to run wild with worst case scenarios?

"That's it? He ignored me and then stormed out because of a stupid concert?"

"Yes, but you can't talk about it like that it in front of him. Do you have any idea how important music is to him?"

I don't. Well, I do, but only vaguely.

"Can you please just go talk to him? Or do I have to make you?"

She holds her hand up with her ring pointed towards me and grins wickedly. She wouldn't...would she? Casting any sort of compulsion on another person is against magickal law. Then again, Penelope has never had much use for laws she doesn't see the point in. I get up hastily and she laughs, lowering her hand safely to her side.

"You wouldn't have...would you?" She just laughs again and raises her eyebrows. She is definitely spending too much time with Baz.


	4. Chapter 4 - Simon Waits

SIMON

Once I've made up my mind to go, I just go. I run out the door and down the stairs. I hesitate when I reach the street, wondering whether to hail a cab or take the tube, it's only one stop. In the end I decide to get there under my own steam because it just seems simpler. I take part of it at a fast walk, and start running when I get impatient.

It's late afternoon and the sky is beginning to darken as I make my way through the city. When I round the corner into Baz's street I feel a momentary flood of relief when I see the light on in the window of his flat, he's home. Then I remember that he's not the only person staying there at the moment. He might not be home after all, and I'm really not in the mood to deal with Fiona. I stop dead, staring up at the window as if I'll be able to figure out who's inside if I just concentrate hard enough. If I still had my magic maybe I would be able to figure it out from here. Correction, if I had Penny's or Baz's magic. With my own I'd probably end up doing something entirely more dramatic and less helpful. I sigh. Do I wait here until Baz shows up? It's a good bet that he'll either need to go out to hunt before too long, or that he hasn't made it back here yet and I can catch him on his way in. Knocking on the door is really out of the question, so it's either wait or go home.

I wait.

I wait for a good forty minutes, at least. It's really getting dark now and I'm beginning to wish I'd brought my coat with me. On my way out I vaguely noticed Baz's by the door, but it didn't register enough to make me stop for my own. I still run fairly warm, even without my magic, but it is early spring and I'm starting to feel the chill. I find that I'm worrying about Baz, what if he hasn't gotten home yet and he's out here somewhere without his coat too? If that even matters to him. Baz always feels cold to the touch, but even after seven and a half years in the same room and a year plus as his boyfriend, I'm not entirely sure how much being in the cold actually bothers him. Admitting when he's suffering from physical discomfort is not something he's ever been particularly good at. According to Penny, Baz's aversion to admitting discomfort is pretty much exactly what's caused this ridiculous situation that has me standing out on the pavement in front of his flat as night falls, but in this case his discomfort is emotional, not physical. I don't think I should tell her, but I'm glad Penny intervened, I don't want Baz fretting over something that we can probably work out together.

BAZ

I've been in the shadows across the street from Snow for about 20 minutes, waiting for him to go away so that I can get home. I don't think I can face him right now after the way I behaved earlier. Initially I was surprised to find him here, I thought he'd still be at home sulking. The more I think about it, though, it's really not surprising at all. This is Simon bloody Snow we're talking about, the hero of my story, so of course he's done the noble thing and come out to find me. I've spent the afternoon worrying that he's not good enough for me take to a concert and here he is, standing out in the cold, reminding me yet again that he's actually the better of the two of us. I feel grateful, and annoyed, and I wish he would sod off so I could get back into my flat. I'm freezing.

I watch the light from the street lamp reflect off of his bronze curls as he tips his head up to look at the window of my flat. If I have to stand out here lurking in the shadows, like a fucking vampire, at least the view is good. He starts to pace and rub his hands along his arms. He must be cold too. I assume he'll be too cold to stay much longer and then I'll be home free. I can wait.

But not for long, apparently.

He runs his hand through his hair and I crack. Not completely, just enough to change my mind about staying in the shadows until he packs it in for the night. I'm feeling like Snow has the advantage over me right now since I've been doing such a piss poor job of controlling my emotions, which means I'm not prepared to just walk up to him and be nice. I mean, I even started spilling my guts to Bunce earlier, what the Oliver Sacks was that about? (Even though I didn't manage to say much to her I'm forced to admit that something about it felt good. I think I would have said more if it weren't for her close relationship with Simon, I didn't want to risk anything I said to her getting back to him and hurting him. I'm good enough at doing that without any help.)

Snow is so preoccupied with looking at my window that he's not paying as much attention to his surroundings as usual. People who don't know him well sometimes have the impression that he's oblivious, maybe even a bit of an oaf, but I know from years of watching him that he's always tuned in to his surroundings, just as much as I am-you don't live in constant fear of being killed for the better part of a decade without learning to keep your eyes and ears open. But I've caught him in a lax moment. I take advantage of it to cross to his side of the street and lean against a fence a few yards down from him. I put my hands in my pockets and wait for him to notice me.

It doesn't take long and when he sees me he starts, which is satisfying.

SIMON

I look down from Baz's window to see...Baz, not ten feet away from me, leaning casually on someone's front gate. His mouth is pressed closed in a thin line, and one eyebrow is slightly raised, but his eyes look warm. "Snow," he says when he sees I've noticed him.

"Baz!" I say. "How long have been there? Are you just coming home, or...is Fiona...why did you run out like that? What's wrong with...I can't believe you..."

Both eyebrows are up now, and the he's staring down his nose at me like he's just waiting for me to stop talking, so I do.

BAZ

Snow finally shuts his mouth.

And I make the mistake of opening mine.

"Fiona did waste the money on you." Shit. How can I be worse at this than Snow is?

"Yeah. Penny told me that there's a ticket for me. Why did you lie to us?"

Us. Brilliant. Now its Penny and Snow against Baz the villain again. I thought we were past this.

"I don't know, Snow...Simon. I guess I freaked out about it. I'm not used to thinking about you and music in the same breath. Music has always been rather...personal."

"You should have said something to me. I'm on your side, you know. I haven't tried to kill you, even a little bit, in like, two years."

SIMON

Baz looks away before he speaks again. "I suppose I could have used some time to think about how to approach it."

"Baz, we're talking about a concert, not invading Russia. How much finesse do you really need to talk to your boyfriend about going to a concert with you, even if you're feeling complicated about it? I know you don't approve of the way you think I just bluster my way ahead through every situation without thinking, and probably you're right, but sometimes just going ahead and doing it, that's the best way to get through something."

"That works for you, maybe. But how can you say that being direct about my problems has ever been a viable option?"

I sigh. I think about what Baz's problems have been: loosing his mother, and (possibly) his soul, while living in a house with an unwritten rule that neither was to be spoken of, being secretly in love with me for years-in our tiny dorm room, having to navigate life as a vampire with the fear that revealing himself, even enough to ask for help, would mean his death. "Yeah, I get it." I've closed the distance between us, and now I reach out to rest my hand on his shoulder. He feels like ice through his shirt. "But you've kept an awful lot of things inside, for a long time. It's not good for you. It would have been better to let some of them out."

"And you'd have loved it, would you, if I'd walked right up to you as soon as I figured it out fifth year and told you I was in love with you?"

"Ok, maybe not that. Not in fifth year, anyway," He raises an eyebrow at me, "but, Merlin, it can't have been good for you to be thinking those thoughts all of those years and not doing anything about them."

"I did do something about them."

"You tried to kill me!"

"Among other things." He doesn't quite smirk, but his lip twitches up at the edge.

I furrow my brows at him, but decide to leave that for now.

"So, Snow, are you trying to make me believe that you've never kept anything bottled up inside? Because that's patently..."

"No. No, you know as well as I do there's a lot I never really talked about, but just...sometimes...if the thing you're worried about is staring you right in the face, it's better to just go ahead and address it, you know?"

"Possibly."

"I have to admit, though," I say quietly, "I've been realizing recently that maybe there were a few things staring me in the face that I chose to ignore too."

Baz looks at me suspiciously. "Like what?"

"Well, let's just say that I wasn't as surprised to find myself kissing you as I should have been."

BAZ

Simon put his hand on my shoulder a minute ago. I've been enjoying the warmth. Now he uses it to pull me in closer, and I don't even hesitate, I never have.

"So, do I get to go to this concert with you, then?"

"You do."

Maybe it won't be so bad. This is Simon, the only person in the world who has seen all of my good and all of my bad and decided to embrace it, every last bit. How can I think he won't be capable of embracing other things about me too? And if it turns out he hates the music, doesn't feel anything special when he's in the middle of it? Well, I think, even if comes to that, I can probably keep on loving this crazy idiot who's been standing out in the cold waiting to talk to me.

We're nose to nose now. He slides his hand around behind me and begins drawing it up the back of my neck, his grip powerful and firm, and I yell, jumping away from him in pain.

"What the fuck, Baz! Are you ok?"

"Fiona," I say, sheepishly.

He raises his eyebrows.

"She tried out one of her new vampire subduing techniques on me, at least that's what I think it was. Very effective."

He laughs and moves his hand more gently through my hair. It's still somewhat painful, but I manage not to show it this time.


	5. Chapter 5 - Baz Resigns Himself

SIMON

I don't know anything about symphonies in general or the London Symphony in particular so I look them up online to see if I can learn anything helpful before the concert. They have a FAQ page on their website, so I bookmark it in case I want to come back to it later, then I look through the questions quickly to see if they sell snacks during the interval. They don't.

I may not know much yet about orchestras, but I do know a thing or two about what it takes to excel at an instrument, after all, I spent a lot of time in the corridor listening to Baz's violin lessons over the years. I usually only heard the playing, not what was being said. I did try casting **speak up** once so that I could hear what Baz and his violin instructor were saying to each other, just to be sure that the violin lessons were real and not a cover for one of the Families' plans, but with my magic as wild as it was, my head was flooded with all the talking of everyone from the floor I was on as well as the ones above and below. It gave me a massive headache and I never tried it again.

Just hearing the sound of the violin, though, was enough to give me a sense of what it takes to become an exceptional musician. I don't have much to compare with, but I believe Baz really is quite good. I don't think he'd allow anything less from himself. He practices in his flat sometimes when I'm there. I usually put my headphones in to give him some privacy, but I often don't have anything playing through them. When I listen to him practice, I hear what he's playing, but I also notice what he's doing. The repetition, the slowing down of a difficult sequence and doing it again and again until his muscles can do it on their own. It's not all that different to developing strong swordsmanship skills, so I have a pretty good idea of the dedication it takes, and how good it must feel when the work starts to pay off and it begins to come more easily. I tried that same approach to learning magic too, but, well, that didn't work.

Baz doesn't know how much I enjoy listening to him play, because he's shite at accepting compliments. Even though I like listening in on the occasional practice session, I'd never really entertained the thought of hunting down this type of music on my own. Now that it's come up, though, the idea of hearing dozens of musicians, all of whom are at least as good as Baz, playing together sounds pretty exciting. I find some lists online of good things for people who are new to classical music to start with. I make sure not to listen to recordings of any of the pieces we're actually going to hear at the concert though, because I want it to feel new when I hear them there. It's not what I'm used to, but I find myself thinking that a lot of these pieces are really quite enjoyable, especially if I turn the volume up nice and loud.

BAZ

I let myself into Simon's flat a couple of days after The Great Orchestra Freak Out, as Penny's taken to calling it. I owe her one, so I'm letting it slide. Simon's at his computer. He swivels in his seat when I walk in.

"Look at this, Baz," he says, with a sparkle in his eyes. Whatever he's looking at, he's clearly excited about it. "The LSO - that's the London Symphony Orchestra,"

I roll my eyes.

"They have their own website with loads of information. You can find out practically anything you want on here!"

"Welcome to the internet, Snow."

He ignores me. "Did you know that they don't just have one conductor, they have six? And that it was the London Symphony that recorded the sound track for the Star Wars movies? And that there are several restaurants nearby that are open before and after concerts?"

"Am I going to have to feed you twice? You're turning out to be an expensive date."

"Well, they don't serve refreshments at the interval, so..."

I laugh. I can't help myself. He actually looks a touch worried, like going an hour and a half without food might be a problem.

"Why don't you see if their illuminating website has information about the quantity of scones per capita permissible in the hall."

He huffs, but turns back to his computer. He's not actually looking that up, is he?

A new page loads. From where I am, I can see that it has a picture of orchestra musicians spread across the top and the LSO's logo in the corner. He looks at it for a moment, then snorts, which seems incongruous. "What's so funny, Snow?" I move around behind him and lean over his head, my lower torso pressed up against his back and my hands on his shoulders, to get a closer look at the screen. It's the London Symphony Orchestra's main welcome page. It looks fairly basic, but he seems to be having a hard time keeping a straight face, which is irking me. This isn't making me feel fantastic about my decision to take him along. I try to step away from him, but he reaches back and grabs my wrist, turning his laughing face up to look at mine.

There's a thumbnail image of the concert guide on the page he's looking at that reads: "The LSO at its best is a terrifying, glamorous, beast." Simon is full on laughing now, like an idiot, and pointing at it. "Look Baz, it's you! You're a terrifying, glamorous, beast!"

A massive sneer is the only retort I can manage before Penny walks in from the kitchen, also laughing. I give in and have a laugh too, I even flash a bit of fang at Simon to show that I really do find it amusing. He's right, laughing at myself with him and Penny is better than fighting. He's always right about that. Every single thing I've done with him since the 23rd of December, year before last, has been better than fighting. I wish I didn't need to be to reminded of that so often.

SIMON

Baz is loosening up about the whole bringing me to the symphony thing, but I can tell that inside he's still really wound up about it. What he could possibly be so worried about is a mystery to me, so I just keep on doing what I'm doing and hope I don't screw anything up and make him regret it. I did try to take my own advice and address what seemed like a still simmering problem, but he just shook it off and told _me_ to relax.

I'm glad he's able to laugh about the glamorous beast thing. I think it's progress, but he definitely looked annoyed before Penny walked in and added her laugh to the mix. I decide to change the topic.

"So what's the theme for this concert?"

"The theme, Snow? this isn't a primary school fete."

Maybe this isn't an improvement after all, but I keep going.

"No, really! I've been doing some reasearch and it says that conductors sometimes choose their repertoire around a certain theme for each concert. They're doing the Bruch violin concerto in G minor, Fauré's Pavane, and Beethoven's seventh symphony. What do they all have in common?"

"Nothing Snow, it's just music, orchestral music," Baz snaps, at the same moment that Penny says, "They're all pieces Baz really likes." Baz frowns at her.

"Maybe the theme is 'Music My Boyfriend Really Likes,'" I laugh.

"Give it a rest, Simon."

"Seriously, though, could you do that? Could you find out where the conductor lives and stand outside his house with your wand and..."

"I said, **give it a rest**!" Baz repeats, this time with magic, and my voice is suddenly gone.

BAZ

Simon's voice comes back in less than three seconds, nothing like **cat got your tongue** , but it works, Simon's done with his inane line of quesioning. I can see a hurt look beginning to take over his face, then I remember that I did actually cast **cat got your tongue** on him during our third year at Watford, twice. It must be a sore memory still, but he masters his expression and settles for knocking me backwards onto the couch. I reach up for him with my hands and my mouth, and make it worth his while.


	6. Chapter 6 - What to Wear?

SIMON

It's been a couple of weeks now since the whole melodrama over Baz's birthday tickets from Fiona. I'm really looking forward to this concert, and I think (I hope) Baz is too. I've done more research and discovered some important things, like the fact that some longer pieces of music are broken up into parts called movements, and it's considered rude to clap in between them. I'm a little worried about messing that up, but if I just watch Baz and do what he does, I should be fine.

The concert really hasn't come up much recently, but when Baz breaks off suddenly in the middle of what was starting off as quite a nice welcome-home kiss, I know exactly what he's talking about.

"You'll need something decent to wear," he says abruptly, pushing me off of him and storming off to my bedroom. I hear my closet door open and hangers slide on the bar. I know he isn't going to find anything suitable, he knows it too. I don't know why he's even looking. I hadn't really thought about what to wear to yet, I mean, it's still weeks away, and I kind of figured I'd just borrow something from Baz, but now a different idea is forming in my mind.

The next day after class, instead of going home, I head straight to Savile Row. I know Gieves and Hawkes is expensive. I also know that if I appear wearing one of their suits, Baz will know exactly where it came from. This is the best way I can think of to let him know, without saying a word, that I understand how important this is to him. Understanding something about the impact music has on him is new, but I've always known that being well dressed is a big deal for him, the stuffy prat. I don't think it would ever occur to him that I'd go out and buy myself a suit for the occasion, not my style for one thing, and for another, everyone seems to have a hard time remembering that I'm actually quite wealthy in the Normal world. I don't talk about my large duffel bag of leprechaun's gold much, that would be crass, but Penny and Baz both know about it. Agatha did too. In fact, the only times I ever spent any of it were when I went shopping with her during school vacations. I wasn't exactly about to haul it out in the children's home, and the gold vanishes when you give it to other mages, so it was useless at Watford.

The shop assistant looks askance at me when I walk in. I'm sure it's clear that I'm just a kid on his way home from uni for the day, and I didn't go to any more trouble with my appearance than usual this morning, which means I'm a bit scruffy looking, probably not their usual clientele. I think about how Baz would handle this situation. I've taken all the same elocution and language classes he has, and I can turn it on when I want, if I really concentrate, so I do. I also do my best to look bored. Amazingly, it works, and before long I'm trying on different suits, and the assistant is displaying a variety of ties and waistcoats for me to choose from. I go with a deep navy suit with a navy waistcoat, and a blue on blue patterned tie, because the assistant says it brings out the color of my eyes. I arrange for the necessary alterations to be made and pay, with real money - the bank is used to handling my intermittent need for 'irregular currency exchange', as they call it, and leave the shop.

When the shop assistant phones the next week to tell me my suit is ready, I'm careful to pick it up when I know Baz will be in class and Penny at the library, so I can sneak it into the flat without anyone noticing. This will be my secret, until the big night. I can't wait to see the looks on their faces!

A week before the concert, Baz shows up at my door carrying a garment bag.

"Wear this," he says, thrusting it at me. "If you want…please."

I have a look inside. It's not lost on me that he's chosen the gray suit I wore the first Christmas eve I spent with his family. I lived so many years thinking of Baz first and foremost as a ruthless excuse for a human being that I can still find myself taken aback when he does something like this, something that reminds me that underneath it all, he's always been resolutely sentimental. Thinking about him picking out this specific suit for me makes me feel a little week in the knees, and I actually start to feel guilty that I have no intention of wearing it. I'm about to smile and thank him for it anyway, when I decide I'd rather play it cool, play it like Baz would do. I raise an eyebrow at him and take the suit to my room without saying a word. Let him wonder. A week stewing over whether I'm going to get my arse in gear and wear this, or go for one of the decidedly unposh options already in my wardrobe feels like a reasonable amount of payback for his shite handling of the whole concert situation to begin with.

PENNY

The evening of the symphony Baz lets himself into our apartment while I'm sitting in the lounge working on a chemistry problem set. Our door is enchanted so that all he has to do is put his hand on it and say **little pig, little pig**. It's similar to getting into our rooms at Watford, or the main gate, but it also works with a key, for Simon. Our neighbors think we have some sort of fancy biometric keypad, so we used a sticking charm to mount a rectangle of black plexiglass on the door, just for the look of the thing.

"Hello Baz," I say, my eyes and most of my brain still focused on the problem I'm involved with.

"Penny."

He is tense, then. I only get the first name treatment from him on the rare occasions he isn't able to maintain his usual high level of self-control. I look up. I've never been into the tall, dark, and half-dead type myself, but Baz really does look stunning. He's in a black suit that, in the right light, shines subtly dark green. I wonder if it's enchanted to do that, or if it's the result of really good tailoring. Knowing the Pitches, probably the latter.

"Where's Snow? Why isn't he here?"

"He's still in his room, changing."

Baz hurries over to Simon's door and is brought up short when he tries to walk inside, only to discover the door is locked.

"Snow. Are you in there?" Baz almost barks.

"you're early, Baz." comes Simon's muffled reply. "Go talk to Penny. I'll be out in a few minutes."

Baz stalks back in my direction. I've given up on my chemistry for the time being. This is far too entertaining. The only thing I've heard Baz complaining about recently with regards to this concert is his fear that Simon will decide to wear something totally unacceptable. I'm sure this is a real concern, but I also wonder how much of it is just a cover for Baz's deeper, undisclosed worries. I'm hoping that after tonight he'll come clean about more of the details to Simon and then Simon will be able to shed some light on it for me. I like being Baz's friend, but friends help each other, which also means that _some_ friends have to do a better job of explaining what they need in terms of help. I believe I _was_ able to help him even so. Neither of them has actually thanked me, but I think they're both grateful that I stepped in and forced the situation in the right direction. I know _I_ have no regrets about how it's turned out so far, but I do hate being in the dark.

I'm sure that whatever Simon's chosen to wear, Baz will get over it eventually and manage to enjoy himself this evening. These two love each other too much for a sartorial disagreement to be a serious stumbling block, no matter what Baz would have me believe. I'm curious too though. Simon's been unusually cagey about what he's going to wear, and it's killing me!

BAZ

Penny can tell I'm anxious. She says, "Relax Baz. I don't know what Simon has picked out to wear for tonight, but whatever it is, it will be fine."

I'm anxious about everything, not just Snow's wardrobe, but it is a handy thing to focus on right now. I allow myself to huff and raise an eyebrow in her direction.

"The LSO even says casual dress is ok," she continues. "Look."

She walks over to Simon's laptop and keys in the password (Why does he even bother to have one? Even Micah knows it and he lives on another continent.) One click and she's on the LSO FAQ page. He's got the London symphony's FAQ page freaking bookmarked.

Penny starts reading. "Please come as you feel comfortable – jeans and trainers are perfectly acceptable…"

Shit.

SIMON

I've been ready since before Baz arrived, but I decide to hang out in my room for a few extra minutes, just to make him sweat. When I hear him come in, I pick up Nimona, the graphic novel I've been reading, and force myself to focus on it for six minutes. (It's entertaining. I picked it up at the book shop because the main characters all look vaguely familiar. I still haven't put my finger on why.) Four pages later, I set the book down and give myself a last once over in the mirror.

I walk into the living room. Penny laughs in delight, and Baz's jaw drops. I grin.


	7. Chapter 7 - Nice Suit

SIMON

"Wow. Simon, you look terrific!" Penny says. "When did you get that?"

I give her a quick rundown of making and carrying out my plan, then I look over at Baz again to gauge his reaction. He's still standing in what I assume is slack-jawed amazement.

"Use your words, Pitch," I say.

He gathers himself, smiles with one side of his mouth and raises an eyebrow. "Well, we already knew you clean up decenlty, didn't we?"

We say our goodbyes to Penny, and as soon as the door clicks shut behind us, Baz pivots and steps in front of me, stopping me short. "Do you even know how amazing you look, you ridiculous fuck?" he says under his breath, leaning in so our faces are nearly touching. Then he attacks, pressing me backwards into the closed door.

As much as I'd like to linger like this, It's hard to kiss someone properly when you're grinning, so I give up after a moment and pull away, saying "I think I do, because I'm looking right at something just as incredible." Then I let my eyes run down his body and Baz's face actually colors. He must have fed right before he came over. This thought calls up an image of him, slinking through Watford's catacombs, dressed in the very nicely-fitting suit he's wearing. The idea is mildly terrifying, and very hot, and embarrassingly, an involuntary sound escape my throat.

"Alright you shameless flirts. I can hear you through the door, you know. Get a move on!" Penny yells at us from inside the flat. I think we've both turned a deeper shade of pink, if that's even possible.

BAZ

It turns out that the evening is starting off quite well. Besides finding myself indecently attracted to the sight of my boyfriend kitted out in one of the finest suits in London, the other sensation I'm feeling right now is relief. Not because Snow looks presentable, I'm not that shallow (I think). It's because it is now evident that he's not treating this outing as a mere lark.

He's just let his eyes rove brazenly over my body and I think he actually moaned. I take him by the hand and pull him down the steps before Bunce can yell at us again, and before we decide to forget about the concert and spend the rest of the night right here in the stairwell.

When we hit the street the fresh air helps me clear my head. I give Simon's hand squeeze and flash him a real smile before focusing on getting us where we need to be. We have reservations for dinner at a restaurant near the Barbican. We take the tube there and, unsurprisingly, turn a few heads along the way. I wasn't kidding when I said we're better looking than any couple has a right to be.


	8. Chapter 8 - The Concert

SIMON

Baz takes me to a place he's picked out near the theater. It has low lighting, and he's specifically requested a corner table, so he's practically invisible to the other diners. I understand that he's done this for me. He knows how much it bothers me when we go out and he won't eat. I understand that it's because he's worried someone will see his fangs, which could be a serious problem, so I feel like an arse for giving him trouble about it, but the fact is that I think he should lighten up. No one's going to notice.

"Thanks for eating with me tonight," I say.

He raises his wine glass, and an eyebrow, in my direction. "Don't get used to it, Snow."

"I don't see why I shouldn't. I'm having a nice time, and I'm pretty sure you are too," I reply, rubbing my ankle against his under the table. "I think we should do this more often."

"We'll see." He scowls, but recovers himself when the waiter comes to take our order.

I thoroughly enjoy my dinner, which is large and filling. Baz has soup, which he seems to think is less risky. I suppose that's better than nothing.

After dinner we join the crows heading towards the theater. I look around me at all of the people entering with us. Some are milling in the foyer, others are in groups or pairs, and a few are on their own. They are young and old and everything in between, different skin colors, different levels of dress, several straight couples and a few that I think might be queer, like Baz and, I guess, me. Everyone is different, but the one thing they all have in common is that I'm pretty sure none of them has a magic wand up their sleeve. Except for Baz, I saw him stuff it in there before we left. Seriously, what kind of person brings a wand with them to the symphony?

As it happens, the conductor does. Baz seems to think I really might actually believe it's a wand and makes an elaborate raised eyebrow show of explaining to me that it's just a fancy stick and it's called a baton. I raise my eyebrows right back and point out that I'm not as much of an idiot as he likes to pretend I am, but then the music starts, and reality aside, I know a wand when I see one, and I can recognize magic when I hear it. The conductor isn't actually a mage, of course, but from the moment he lifts his baton, I am transported to another world. Honestly, it's not all that different from the feeling I got when Baz and I sat on his bed and he cast us into the stars. Recordings just don't do it justice. This is like going to a world where all of your senses can be filled at once. "This feels like magic," I whisper, leaning in Baz's direction.

He leans away and shushes me, sharply, but almost silently. He looks irritated, but I can tell he's also trying not to smile. How is he so good at looking angry and pleased at the same time? Was there a class on Contradictory Facial Expressions at Watford that I didn't know about?

The first piece is the Pavane. There's a flute player who spends most of the piece playing a hauntingly beautiful melody. The rest of the orchestra backs him up with swells of sound that tug at something in the back of my brain which makes me feel a wistful longing, although I'm not sure for what. It makes me feel a little sad too, but also ok, and I don't want it to stop, ever, but the piece is short, and then it's over and I'm clapping. I realize that I was so transfixed by the sight of the musicians moving in unison that I forgot to look at Baz. I'm still behind in the staring game, he's years ahead of me from all the time he spent watching me at Watford while my back was turned or while I was sleeping (something I always suspected, which he's finally admitted to). This seems like an excellent opportunity for me to do a little catching up.

As the next piece starts I open my program to see what it is (It's the Beethoven). I think I'm doing a good job of being quiet, but Baz fixes me with a glare and I think I hear him whisper " **seen but not heard**." Suddenly I find I can flip the pages as much as I want and it doesn't make a sound. I smile at Baz, but he's still glaring at me, so turn my attention back to the orchestra.

When Baz is done being disapproving, I sneak another peek, and my breath catches. As attractive as he looked at dinner, that was nothing compared to the sight of him now. He's leaning forward, straight-backed, in his seat, knees spread as far apart as the space will allow, with his elbows resting on them and his hands clasped in between. His head is up, and he's watching the musicians with an intensity in his eyes that he usually reserves for me.

Crowly. Who's he dating, me or the orchestra? Is taking me here kind of like introducing your significant other to someone you've been seeing secretly on the side? (and if so, which one of us is which?) I suppose this could explain some of his recent tension. I bet he felt weird trying to figure out how to explain _that_ to me.

The first movement ends and Baz tenses, his eyes flick over to me, I can tell he's got his hand on his wand again. A couple of people in the audience clap once or twice before realizing their mistake. I am not one of them. I raise an eyebrow in Baz's direction and flick a bit of nonexistent lint off of my trousers, before resettling myself comfortably in my seat. He rolls his eyes, and relaxes back into his as well. He really was worried I was going to screw something up, wasn't he? The twit. I wish he'd have just said something to me about it.

Even though I find it frustrating, I'm still sympathetic about the difficulty Baz has talking to me about how he's feeling. Both of us spent years being so careful to keep anything personal out of our relationship. It was self defense, and I know how hard it is to break away from that. I have my therapist to help me through it, but that's not something Baz has been willing to consider. Besides, he has years and years of hiding his feelings about me to overcome, whereas I'd really only been ignoring my feelings for him since I came back to Watford eighth year and found him missing...or, maybe it was a bit longer than that, I mean, I must have had some feelings for him as far back as fifth year. All that following really can't have just been because I thought he was up to something. My therapist has helped me figure out that it's possible my real concern might have been that he was up to something without _me_ , and following him around was my way of making sure he wasn't. It was also my way of making sure he was miserable. I really should apologize to him for that.

While I've been thinking, the second movement has started. It's a lot different to the first, slower, and much quieter at the beginning. Baz is fully focused on the orchestra again. He's leaning back in his seat now, his mouth in a thin line. I slide my hand into his and turn my attention back to the stage as well. This is a beautiful piece of music, and melancholy. About two and a half minutes in, the music is getting really intense, and Baz's hand has slipped out of mine. I steal another glance at him and I'm taken aback to see tears sliding down his face. He looks desolate but somehow peaceful. (Again, how does he do that?) I don't want him to be sad, but I'm also glad to see him letting his defenses down so thoroughly in front of me. I guess he knows I'm not about to lean over ask him to talk about his feelings just now. I do find his hand again and give it a squeeze though, which he returns. A couple of minutes farther into the movement the piece becomes less melancholy, and even starts to sound hopeful. Baz has stopped crying, but he still has wet lines down his face. In the pause after the second movement, before the third starts, I hear him whisper and feel him twitch his wand hand. Suddenly, his face is dry.

The third movement seems oddly chipper after the emotional ride of the second. Maybe it's the musical equivalent of a chaser. It changes character after a couple of minutes, becoming grandiose. I let myself get lost in the sight of the musicians moving in rhythm to their playing. The conductor is also really fun to watch. My mind wanders as the music washes over me, and I don't stop it. It's a comfortable feeling. No, better than comfortable. The music fills me up inside, in a way I haven't felt in a long time, and right now, in this hall, there's nothing else that needs my attention. Nothing at all that I have to think about. I sit back and close my eyes and just let myself _be_.

When the fourth movement starts, the only way I can think to describe it is _triumphant_. It reminds me of the scenes I used to imagine where I'd return victorious through the Watford gates, after defeating the Humdrum and saving the magical world, to be met by Agatha and an admiring crowd of mages. The only part of that fantasy that actually came true was the defeating the humdrum and saving the world part. I don't know whether to laugh or cry about how differently everything else played out. I guess the bits that happened were the important bits, and having Baz waiting for me on the other side of it rather than Agatha isn't what I'd ever expected, but I can't complain.

The fourth movement of the Beethoven ends, which means it's finally over and we get to clap. It also means we're at the interval and, much as I'd love to stay and talk to Baz about it, I was thirsty at dinner and my first priority has really got to be finding the loo. As soon as the lights come back on I give Baz's arm a squeeze and push past him towards the aisle.

BAZ

I think Simon's enjoying himself. It is truly an excellent performance. I'm hoping to use the interval to gauge how he's feeling about accompanying me, but as soon as the house lights are up, he's brushed past me without a word and is gone. I'm left looking after him with my mouth half open, like an imbecile. I'm somewhat taken aback and tempted to sulk, but I settle for stretching my legs, alone, in the aisle, while I wait for him to return, which he does just as the lights are dimming again for the second half. He gives me a peck on the cheek as he squeezes past me to get to his seat, which means I'm unable to get a good look at his face. Was he absent all this time so he didn't have to tell me how much he's hating this? Was it a look of boredom he was trying to hide with a kiss on his way in? I shake myself mentally and remind myself that Penelope would undoubtedly tell me to stop overreacting if she were listening in on my thoughts. I'm glad she isn't.

SIMON

The second part is going to be shorter than the first. It's just the Bruch violin concerto, which only has three movements. The audience stops its chattering and rustling gradually as the lights dim, until an expectant silence has settled over the hall. Then the conductor emerges from a side door, followed by a young woman in a gorgeous floor-length dress of what looks like crimson silk, or some other posh material. She's carrying a violin, and she stops in front of the orchestra, positioning herself so that she's facing both the conductor and the audience.

The conductor raises his baton, and the orchestra begins. They play by themselves for a few seconds, and then the violin starts. I draw in a sharp breath. I've heard this before!

BAZ

Not five notes into the violin solo at the beginning of the Bruch, Snow catches his breath and turns to stare at me with wide eyes.

Oh.

He's full of surprises tonight. I do practice when he's around sometimes, but whenever I start to play he puts in those infernal earbuds. I thought he was blasting Queen or M.I.A. over them to drown me out. It appears I have another item to add to the list of Ways I've Misjudged Simon Snow.

I realize I'm staring at him, probably not with a particularly nice expression on my face. I really am pleased that he recognizes this, so I reward him with a grin before I turn my attention back to the stage, I don't want to miss a second. This piece is technically challenging, and powerful, and beautiful, and I love playing it.

SIMON

Maybe now I'll be able to get away with telling Baz that I like listening to him play. I haven't tried bringing it up in a while, he used to just brush me off, or say something snide, so I stopped bothering. He's turned back to watch, but I keep my eyes on him. He's completely absorbed in this. It's fascinating. Right now he's staring at the orchestra, and the fingers of his left had are moving on his thigh, pressing down as though he's playing along on his own violin.

After a while I let myself zone out again, just me and the semi-darkness and the sound. Sitting in a room surrounded by people who are all silently focused on the same thing I am is completely different to listening to music at home. Here nobody, including me, is trying to get anything else done, and there's no nagging feeling in the back of my brain that I should get on with the washing up, or my course reading.

I realize eventually that I've lost track of where in the concerto we are. Several minutes have passed, and there was no pause like there was between the parts of the Beethoven, but I think the orchestra must have somehow moved on to the second movement, because something's definitely changed. This part has a really different feel to it. The first section was dynamic, exciting, but now there's much more of a "searching the woods and the towers for something you can't quite find" vibe. It somehow manages to be melancholy and uplifting at the same time. No wonder Baz likes it so much. It's full of contradictory emotions, just like he is.

I lift my program again (carefully) to see if I can figure out where we are. Then I realize the silencing charm hasn't worn off, so I flap it around a little bit, just for fun. There's something delightful about waving a piece of paper that should be making noise, and knowing it been magicked to be as silent as an owl's wings. Baz, without even turning to look at me, extends a hand and pins my arm down against my leg so I can't move it, or the program, any more.

There is a pause after this movement, and I was right, only one more movement and the concert is over. It was amazing!

BAZ

Simon is smiling - no, grinning - at me as he applauds at the end of the concert. I suppose I can take it that he did, in fact, enjoy himself. And, to my eternal relief, he managed to get through it without doing anything too embarrassing, although it's a good thing I had my wand with me. I turn and face the aisle, waiting for it to clear enough for us to exit. As we join the crowds pushing towards the doors, I'm fairly certain Simon, behind me, is using the crush of bodies leaving the hall as an excuse to press himself up behind me closer than is strictly necessary.

We emerge into the cool night air, and I pull Simon to the side so we have a quiet moment together, just watching the crowd go by. I'm in no hurry to get home. I'm feeling much more relaxed than I was at the start of the evening, and I want to savor every moment of this experience. There's something exhilarating about doing something new with Snow. I'm also postponing the inevitable. At some point soon I am going to have to talk to him about the concert. I don't think he hated it, he was smiling like a buffoon when it ended, but now his usually easy to read face is locked on the distance. He's looking somewhat inscrutable, which is irritating.

SIMON

We're standing apart from the crowd, with our arms loosely around each others' waists, just watching everyone go by. I'm feeling remarkably contented. Every part of this evening has been wonderful, and the feeling of Baz's cool form next to mine reminds me that this is only one in what I hope (what I assume) will be a long string of wonderful evenings that stretch out indefinitely before us. I sigh. It's a sigh of contentment, but Baz tenses and clenches the hand that's holding my waist. It's just for a split second, but when someone with super-strength tightness his grip on you all of a sudden, you notice.

He's loosened up steadily over the evening, and I have to assume he's feeling pretty content by now too, but there's something I have to say. I really want him to know what I think about coming here with him, because I don't think he's going to ask, and his reaction just now tells me that he's still worried. I've been standing to his right, with my left arm around his waist. Now I move around so that I'm facing him, clasping him low around the back with both arms. He looks at me for a second, and then turns slightly, to focus his deep grey eyes on something over my left shoulder. I reach up a hand and push his chin gently, until he's looking straight at me again.

BAZ

Simon's staring at me with an expression on his face that makes me catch my breath. It's intense, and open. The way he's looking at me makes me feel powerful and vulnerable all at once. It feels like too much. I start to raise an eyebrow and pull my lip up into a sneer. I'm all ready to say something sarcastic, when I remember Fiona's words. I take a deep breath and stop trying to defend myself. Instead, I let him in.

"So," I try to smile, "did you like it?"

Simon lets out a breath I didn't even realize he'd been holding. Instead of answering, he brings one hand up to the back of my neck and pulls me gently in for a kiss. He breaks away after a moment and looks right into my eyes. "Yes," he says," it was wonderful."

That's enough. It's more than enough. It's more than I hoped for, and so much more than I feared. But it looks like it's not enough for Simon, he's pulled away from me just a bit, enough so that he can look down at the ground, and his hands have moved back down to hold mine. I recognize the look of my boyfriend struggling to find the words. I wait. We have all the time in the world.

"Baz?" He brings his head up suddenly. Only my quick reflexes prevent him from giving me a bloody nose.

"I think this might sound a bit….mad, maybe, but...erm...I don't really miss my magic, you know, on a daily basis, or anything...it's not something I'm just thinking about all the time...but...that's..."

"Words, Snow."

I probably deserve the pained look he gives me, but he pulls himself together and goes on.

"It's that, all of that music? I could feel it, not just hear it, and it felt kind of like…it filled me up inside, in the places that have been empty since I lost my magic."

I can hardly believe my ears. Penny was right. She was so right. (I make a mental note to take her more seriously when she offers advice, not that I'm planning to start asking her for it.) Simon _does_ understand, completely. I don't know what to say, so I wrap my arms around him, I just want to hold him close while I absorb what he's said. But it appears that he's still not finished. He leans into me for a moment, and then gently separates us again, so that I can see his face once more.

"There's more, Baz, and I know I'm not very good at saying this kind of thing, so I just want to try to go ahead and say it all until I'm done, ok?"

I nod.

"It's not just that being in the hall with the orchestra playing felt a little like my magic. It also, it was so... _easy_...to be there, to let everything else go. I could hear the music, obviously, _and_ feel it, and watch the musicians - it's amazing when they're all moving their arms at exactly the same time, isn't it? I really liked that. All of it. It made me feel like I could let my brain relax - like I didn't have to think about anything, but my mind was still full. I guess that makes it kind of like my magic too. Do you remember how I used to get so focused when I was using it that no one could interrupt me or get my attention?"

I think of the last time I saw him using his magic, when he was pouring it into the Humdrum, and I shudder. I nod again. There was no way anyone could have broken through to him.

"Well, when that would happen, I _couldn't_ think, my magic took over and filled up my head. This was like that, but different. I was in control, my brain didn't blank out like it used to. I got to make the choice to stop thinking and let the music fill up that space in my head. It felt really good, better than my magic ever did. Does it…does that make any sense?"

SIMON

For a moment Baz doesn't answer, and I can't really read how he's feeling. Finally he speaks, but he doesn't tell me directly if what I've said makes sense to him.

"For me," he begins, "the music helps me clear out my brain, but it's not quite like what you're describing. It gives me space to focus, and, if I want, space to think about things that I normally don't dwell on."

BAZ

"The second movement of the symphony?" Simon says quietly. He reaches up and traces a finger down my cheek, along the path I couldn't stop my tears from following.

"Yeah." I look down, and with a real effort prevent myself from turning my head away. "That part always reminds me of my mum. And about how lonely it was in my great big house when I was five and nobody knew what to say to me." I roll my eyes up, but this time, for a change, it's to keep a new tear from falling, not because I'm being a sarcastic bastard.

SIMON

I feel like we've done enough serious talking for the night. I lean into Baz and let him recover himself. Eventually he brings his eyes down from the sky and kisses my forehead, before saying, "Shall we see about a second dinner for you? I wouldn't want you to faint on the way home."


	9. Chapter 9 - Epilogue 1 - Fiona (again)

BAZ

It's a few weeks after the concert. Simon and I are walking down the street after a day out and about in central London. We're hand in hand—he simply doesn't give a shit about the unfriendly glances we sometimes get, and I've always been good at appearing not to care. We round a corner and I realize with a sudden jolt that the woman with blue hair and matching Doc Martens at the other end of the street is Fiona.

I start to steer us towards the street crossing so we can avoid a confrontation, Simon's never been fond of the idea of spending any sort of time with her—and who can blame him? But Snow spots her too and stops me. He gives my hand a little squeeze, then he's dropped it and he's off down the pavement towards Fiona. She begins getting into her MG. I stay where I am and watch in disbelief as he starts running and prevents her from disappearing into the car with a hand on her shoulder. She stands and I see her turn to face Simon, who is already talking to her earnestly, gesturing with his hands. She appears to say a word or two back, although it's unclear if Snow's bothered to listen to her or not. Then my jaw drops, not because I see him reach out as though to shake her hand, but because she responds by actually pulling him into a hug. A real hug, which he returns enthusiastically. Then he speaks again and she looks up in my direction, spots me, and raises a hand in the air. I think she's waving and I've begun to return the gesture when I realize it's the back side of her hand that's towards me…and she's only put up two fingers. Fucking Fiona. I don't return _that_ gesture. _I_ have a sense of decency and class. Simon has disengaged himself from the hug by this point and is sauntering back towards me with the world's biggest grin on his face.


	10. Chapter 10 - Epilogue 2 -Looking Forward

SIMON

I get the laptop set up and angle it so that it includes the corner of the couch where Baz has settled. He's sitting with his back very straight, looking bored, which is how I know he's dreading this. That, and the fact that I already knew.

Although it was him who brought it up in the first place.

"You know Snow, that therapist of yours seems to have done you some good," he'd said out of the blue one morning. "Mind if I listen in on one of your sessions?"

He was trying to sound casual, but after months of fleeing the premises if I so much as mentioned her name, I knew what he was asking was a big deal.

"Of course. Do you want to talk to her or just, you know…"

"Words, Snow. It's a pity she hasn't been able to help you learn to form complete sentences." Eyebrows arched, he'd started to stalk out of my room, where we'd been lying together on the bed in a tangle of limbs just moments before.

Irrationally afraid he was going to leave the flat and never bring it up again (irrationally because all he was wearing was a pair of my pyjama bottoms), I dashed after him and caught him by the arm in the entrance to the kitchen. He half turned towards me and almost snarled, but I didn't dare let go.

"I mean, do you want to say hello or ask her anything about what she does, with me, or something like that, or do you want to just, you know, just sit there and listen…for the whole session, or just at the beginning, or what?" It'd all come out of my mouth in a tumbled rush and I could see Baz struggling between staying haughty and cold, _safe_ , and feeling badly for me. I guess my anxiety at that moment was just as palpable as his.

He'd narrowed his eyes and said, "Listen in. Like I've _just_ _said_ , Snow." Then he'd pulled his arm away and turned his attention to the refrigerator.

"Can I introduce you, though? It might be a bit strange if you're just sitting there, silently, you know?"

I'd held my breath while he carried out an obsessively thorough examination of the various jams and spreads, hoping I hadn't pushed him too far.

"Yes. Fine. I'll make nice and say hello. Can we stop talking about it now?"

Now he's sitting here on the couch, clearly regretting ever having brought it up, but at least he isn't trying to leave. I actually thought about asking Penny to cast something on the door this morning to prevent that, but I was afraid of what would happen if he found out.

He looks over at me now and says coolly, like it's an afterthought, "We're just being introduced, correct?"

He's not fooling me. "Yes, just like I told you the last ten times you asked." I suppress a smile.

"Well, I know you've been dying to have me talk to this woman for months, and you are a bit thick, so I want to be sure. And I've only asked twice."

"Three times, at least. And I can't believe you have the nerve to be worried that I'm secretly trying to lure you into talking about your feelings, after all the times you _actually_ tried to lure me to my death!"

"Just get it set up will you? It can't be as complicated as you're making it look."

The closer I get to having everything adjusted and actually getting Gemma on the line (she's said I should call her by her first name, I was a bit put off by the informality of it at first, but I'm used to it now), the haughtier Baz's expression gets.

I have to admit, I'm enjoying his discomfort just a little bit. But I know I need to be careful so he doesn't bolt. Baz has mostly been a rock for me over the past year, but I know there's a lot going on underneath that he's going to have to deal with sometime. I can support him as much possible, but I can't do the work for him, so I'm really hoping that this is the beginning of something bigger for him.

I've talked to my therapist a lot about Baz over the past year. I've talked to her a lot about everything. But she's definitely heard enough about Baz that she won't waste any time figuring out that his poise and imperious expression are hiding an extreme case of nerves. I finally have everything ready to go. I turn to Baz and raise my eyebrows at him. He rolls his eyes. I make the connection.

BAZ

"Hello Baz, it's a pleasure to meet you." The therapist, _Gemma_ (The liberties Americans take with protocol are shocking), turns so she's facing me. She smiles a professional smile, friendly, but not particularly warm. I can tell if she were here I'd be shaking a firm but gentle hand. I'm glad she's not here.

"Likewise." I say, doing my best to appear calm. "Thank you for agreeing to this."

"You're welcome. Simon tells me that you'd like to sit in on our session, to get an idea of what it's like. Is that right?"

"Yes. Please."

"Before we start, do you have any questions for me?"

I don't, so she turns her attention to Simon.

It's fascinating watching Snow explore his thoughts and feelings with this woman who is a stranger to me, but at the same time it's nothing new. Listening to his words and observing his body language, I'm struck by how well I know him after what feels like such a short time together. I suppose I can't discount the years I spend watching him at Watford, you can get to know a lot about a person from a safe distance, although I never thought the details I spent my time memorizing would matter in the long run. We've been dating for over a year now, but several months of that barely count because I was at Watford and Simon wasn't, and he wasn't very talkative during that time, or for a while afterwards. I suppose I have this woman to thank, at least in part, for changing that. I start to warm towards her a little.

As the session nears its end, Gemma looks back at me and says, "Baz?"

I start slightly—I hope she doesn't notice—before replying, "Yes?"

"Simon has told me that you played football at Watford."

"That's right." I nod. What else has he told her about me? What _hasn't_ he told her? _Crowly_.

"Have you considered picking it back up? The London School of Economics has several football teams, at a variety of levels. I expect there'd be one suited to you."

I'm staring at her, probably blankly, my jaw might even have dropped, I can't tell. To be honest, it hadn't even occurred to me to look into it. I suppose there must have been flyers up or information on the website or something, but what with starting uni, adjusting to life as an urban vampire, openly dating Simon whilst closeting my magic, and just generally getting used to being alive and having a future ahead of me, the thought of playing football here never even crossed my mind. I can't believe that it didn't.

I recover—my mouth _was_ open—and say, "I hadn't thought about that."

I look over at Snow and he's smiling at me

"That's right, you came to all of my games, didn't you?" I feel the beginnings of a smile creep onto my face too.

"Just to be sure you weren't up to anything."

"I was up to playing football, you wanker. Just how much plotting do you think can be accomplished on the pitch in the middle of a game?"

"In retrospect, there may have been a few other reasons I went." He's grinning now.

"Oh? Such as?" I arch an eyebrow.

"Your eyes, your legs, your hair, definitely your hair."

Gemma is keeping quite, probably mentally filling a whole notebook with observations about us that I don't want to get anywhere near.

I don't care (well, I do, but I do my best to appear otherwise). I throw a cushion at Simon and then here he is, right next to me. He's scooted down to my end of the couch, and he's throwing his arms around me in a playful mock tackle. I lean in and turn it into a hug, burying my face in his neck.

I feel embarrassed to be hugging my boyfriend in front of a complete stranger, one we've had to set up an appointment to see, for Crowly's sake. I know Simon can feel me tensing up, and this is when it really hits home that he knows me just as well as I know him, because he understands exactly what's on my mind.

"You know she already knows everything about you that I know, right?" he whispers into my ear.

I sigh. I hate that thought, but it's what I figured. I sit up and pull my face out of Snow's neck, but I leave my arm around him. I turn towards the camera on the laptop and say, "Thank you. I'll look into it." I try for a friendly smile, but what comes out is probably more of a grimace. Merlin, I'm still nervous talking to her, even though I have a feeling she's just opened my world up in an important way. Maybe I could stand to talk to her on my own one of these days. I'll have to think about it.

Simon and Gemma say their goodbyes and he shuts down the connection. Now he's standing over me. He reaches out and pulls me up by my wrists. Once I'm up, I shake my hands out of his grasp so I can slide them around his waist. He still smiling, but he also looks serious.

"Thank you Baz," he says.

"For what?"

"For talking to her, for taking me to the symphony, for letting me have this, all of this, with you."

"I wouldn't have it any other way," I say, as I slide one hand up the back of his neck and pull him towards me."


End file.
